


kiss the blood from these pale feet

by Punxutawney



Category: Iron Fist (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Meachumcest, Prescription Drug Abuse, Self-Loathing, Sibling Incest, Ward-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 15:10:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10467906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Punxutawney/pseuds/Punxutawney
Summary: Ward is thirteen when he’s put on suppressants.The one thing his father and his carefully selected doctor fail to tell him is that it hurts.





	

Ward is thirteen when he’s put on suppressants.

He thinks he’s seen his father disappointed before, but all of it – his grades, his pathetic athletic prowess, his indifference to all things nautical – pales in comparison to the realization that his son is an omega.

Harold is a problem-solver, though, and it doesn’t take long until Ward is rushed to an appointment before he can embarrass himself, and his family, in front of the world. He understands it, really, as there is no room for omegas on the top rungs of the corporate ladder. This is his father’s version of helicopter parenting. So, suppressants it is.

The one thing his father and his carefully selected doctor fail to tell him is that it hurts. At first, Ward thinks he’s coming down with a cold, because it is the kind of ephemeral full-body ache you feel when you’ve got a fever, but then, he doesn’t really get sick. The feeling just spreads all over his body, settling into his joints and bones already hurting with a growth spurt. That pain, though, is an ebb and flow, whereas this new one is a constant, a steady pulse like his heartbeat.

For a few weeks, Ward grits his teeth and endures, just like with all of Harold’s wishes, or he at least attempts to, and inevitably fails. Finally, he approaches his father, who meets his pitiful confession with a resigned sigh of disappointment, once again.

Ward is taken to their private doctor again, and explained that it’s supposed to hurt – the suppressant puts his body in a state of low-level inflammation. For a moment he’s relieved to learn it’s like that for everyone, that it’s not his unique brand of weakness this time, but the shame quickly returns. Clearly, Harold expected him to be one of those people who can deal with the pain without an accompanying painkiller, and again, Ward failed the test.

He gladly accepts the mix of suppressant and codeine, though, trembling with pain as he is. It melts the pain away quickly, wrapping him in warmth and instilling him with vigor. He’s given a brief lecture on drug interactions – no NSAIDs, since they block the suppressant, hence the opioid – and instructions on the dosage. Ward feels confident in his newfound physical strength. It’ll all be alright now.

But, of course, it isn’t. It never is.

There is his father, his imposing, downright scary father with his all-encompassing presence, suddenly wasting away like an unwatered plant on a windowsill. It turns out that he, too, has been battling pain in private, and, unlike Ward, keeping it secret from his family until it cannot be denied.

Joy, determined and compassionate Joy, spends every waking hour with him, of course. Ward tries to visit the hospital as often as he can, which is far fewer visits than a loving son should be capable of, but the last weeks are ruthless on his father’s body. Ward can’t bear to look at him without feeling sick. The horrible thought seeps into him that somehow, he was the one who brought it on. How many times has he lain awake at night, wishing that his father didn’t exist, that it was him who left and not his mother, that he simply vanished into thin air. That is now happening right in front of his eyes, and Ward feels guilt beyond guilt, for everything he’s done and everything he couldn’t do.

There is loss, and there is loss; losing the Rands from their vaguely unusual would-be family, which Ward was only starting to get used to, was a shock, but he felt detached from it all. For a while, he wondered whether he could even feel real sorrow. It is a weird kind of relief, then, that he reacts this strongly when his father passes away, even if it’s not the wistful melancholia of fiction but an angry, black ball inside of him, made of bitterness and rage at the universe for ruining everything again.

Joy presents when she’s fifteen, an appropriate age. Ward watches with infinite envy and a hint of pride as she steps into her alphadom. She is glowing with it, happy and excited instead of ashamed and scared. She thinks he’s an alpha, of course, and is all too comfortable discussing her sexual growth with him. Ward can’t blame her – she has all the right to expect him to guide her, as the oldest family member she now has. There is nothing wrong with that, except that he has no idea what to say.

Ward ups his dosage not soon after, afraid that her scent will trigger something in him. She’s suddenly too close for his liking too often, pressing against his shoulder when they’re side by side or linking their arms. Ward regrets his choice of higher education – he’d thought it best not to leave the city and to stay out of a campus life hundreds of miles away, where a slip-up seemed all too likely to happen.

Now, though, he’s around Joy all the time. She still studies at home, the Rands’ old apartment, which their father chose to have renovated for his children. Ward has his condo, but he spends half of his nights in Gramercy anyway. They’ve fallen into a comfortable arrangement where they study together, him letting her peruse his textbooks after she’s done with her homework and growing bored. He doesn’t say it, but she would clearly ace his classes, whereas he couldn’t probably pass her exams anymore. Her brain is like a sponge absorbing everything there is to know of business and pharmacology, and she works relentlessly, a combination that scares Ward because it reminds him of Harold, even if Joy still remains his sweet baby sister at heart.

Ward works hard, too, but he has to force himself into it, create systems and procedures. Deep down, he knows he has no true ambition, but he can glom onto Joy’s determination, even as his father’s disappointed face swims before his eyes every time he tries to fall asleep. No matter how many all-nighters he pulls, the thought that he’s doing it all for the wrong reasons never leaves him. He can only hope Joy will make up for what he lacks in vision and business acumen.

Then, just when he thinks he’s about to come to terms with it all, the unthinkable happens again.

His father calls. It’s an unknown number. Of course, he thinks it’s a prank call at first, but then, who would want to prank him? He has no friends, only co-workers, acquaintances and subordinates. Joy isn’t the type; at best, she gently ribs him about his fixation on his hair.

Weirdly, the worst thing about it isn’t learning that the outer reaches of science can bring people back to life like some modern Frankenstein; it’s the feeling that somehow, in a sick twist of cosmic irony, Ward has once again brought this upon himself. Has he not wished, all this time, for it all to be a bad dream? That one day Harold would stride back into the room and take command like only an alpha at the height of his powers can?

And here he is now, flesh and blood and his strong alpha scent enveloping Ward as he experiences the most awkward embrace of his whole life – the first, and the last, time they really hug. It embarrasses him how good it feels, both as a mockery of fatherly love and as an alpha’s touch.

Ward never touches anyone if he can avoid it. The suppressant hides his scent and removes the outer signs of his heat so no alpha will be drawn to him, but it doesn’t tamp down all of his internal urges. That’s not a bug but a feature, as Ward very well knows as the future head of the company that manufactures it. The medication is not meant for long-term use, anyway; it’s for omegas who present too early, to be used for a year or two at most until they’re ready to couple. Experiencing the omega drive without having to hide from alphas is a safe way to ease into your sexuality. Ward knows this all too well, and he knows he should have been taken off Anomeg years ago. He can’t, though, and he knows he won’t. There’s no way. His doctor will keep the prescriptions coming.

Ward is, of course, expected to fill his father’s shoes as CEO of Rand. It is his birthright, and to outsiders, it must appear that he’s worked his ass off for it, too. He’s no Tony Stark, but he’s on the _Fortune_ cover, and that has to be enough. He plays the part of a Big Pharma drug-peddler to the best of his abilities, limited as they are. He wears Marc Jacobs mixed with an alpha scent – technically illegal, of course. He shops at Brooks Brothers. His ties are exactly the width and length they should be, his hair impeccable. He visits his father regularly and whenever Harold calls him, be it in the middle of lunch or at 3 am.

It all goes rather well, considering. That is, until a certain unwashed phenomenon enters their lives, leaving dirty footprints on his office floor and reeking of old sweat and good intentions.

Danny, naturally, is a beta. It’s sickening, really, just like the rest of him. His scent, under the grime, is clean, neutral and totally inoffensive.

Ward wants to bury his face in Danny’s greasy curls and breathe in just to get a moment of respite from this corporate sea of type-A alpha scents. He’s not in heat just yet, but he still feels trapped in a cage of his body’s treacherous reactions.

Ward can, and will, deal with it, though. There simply is no other way, especially as Danny’s sudden arrival throws everything into chaos. If that Burning Man reject even truly is Danny, which Ward still doubts even as his father fusses over him like the prodigal son come home.

He would almost feel sorry for the inevitably gruesome end Danny will meet at Harold’s hands, if he wasn’t so filled with hatred. As long as his father seemed even marginally happy to live in his madman’s attic, Ward could pretend it would all be alright, in the end. Harold would die, naturally, again, and remain that way, letting Ward finally live free of his ghost. Sometimes, it truly even felt like this part of his life was only a recurring nightmare, not affecting his life except for the sleep deprivation.

Now, though, the nightmare seems to be seeping into the real world. Every day there’s a new forest fire Ward has to rush to put out. He thought Joy would have his back, but their idiot brother from another mother and father has seemingly ensnared her as well.

Ward has always felt alone, but he suddenly finds himself really, truly, alone. He’d been content to live precariously in this balance of fear, juggling his father’s wishes, Joy’s ideas and the company’s interests and succeeding most of the time. Now, his father and sister alongside his company have been swept up by this intruder.

It doesn’t help that his time of the cycle is near. Ward has had to up his dosage again, and he now carries the pills around, just in case, in an old Vicodin bottle.

In addition to everything else, it is getting increasingly harder to keep his secrets from Joy. They still work together most of their waking hours, and she is growing suspicious of his unexplained absences and urgent phone calls.

The overdose-in-the-office incident doesn’t help, either. Nor does his panicked decision which lands him in the clutches of the worst case of codeine withdrawal he’s felt so far. It mixes in his gut with a nauseating wave of arousal, and the combined effect almost seems to knock him out. There are alpha scents mingling in the air everywhere in the Rand building, stronger wherever the occasional omega has passed by. It’s hard to concentrate, especially with Joy next to him, commanding and confident and wrapped in a familiar scent that promises security and pleasure.

Ward stumbles to his feet, unable to take any more. He needs to get out – he needs air – he needs – he –

He has no idea how he got here, outside the walk-in clinic. The whole of his body seems to ache with lust. He knows it’s nearly impossible to find suppressants instantly, even in the streets, but if he could just remove the pain from the equation, maybe he could work his way to it. It’s so hard to think, though, when he can feel something slick beginning to gather between his legs and he desperately wants someone, anyone, to force him on all fours and –

He needs to be quick. He can’t be in public when this happens. Even if he was a nobody it would be a newsworthy incident, but him – he’d do more damage to the company than any viral video of Danny ever could. Ward needs to act now.

Naturally, it doesn’t work out. His personal, off-the-cuff plans never do. It’s either his father’s hand guiding him, or Joy’s, like it is now.

She drags him into his office and he almost enjoys the way she handles him. Her alpha scent flares up when she’s angry. Usually, it makes him uncomfortable, but now, shamefully enough, it excites him, despite the throbbing pain in his hand and the hammering in his temples. He can barely concentrate on what she’s saying until she mentions the phone calls again.

“Joy, please,” he grinds out desperately, feeling dangerously nonverbal. He wants nothing but to throw himself at her feet, literally beg her to leave. “It’s just a deal I’m trying to make. It’s nothing.”

“Alright, but what about this, then?” Joy sounds desperate as well. “And don’t say ‘it’s nothing’ again. I’ll kick your ass.”

Ward goes for another cliche.

“It’s not what it looks like.”

Joy huffs out in exasperation and takes a step closer. Too close, he thinks distractedly. He can see the outline of her bra through the sheer fabric of her blouse. It’s only a matter of time until she realizes what his dilated pupils and higher heart rate mean. Until she smells him.

He could still run, but Ward knows he has to give her something to throw her off the trail, let her in on a secret. She can’t know the truth about Harold. Ward can’t lose the only person in the world who actually, miraculously, seems to like him. So, through the haze of pain and lust, he makes the decision. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to explain in words, so he does what his body is telling him to do.

Joy gasps softly as Ward drops on his knees in front of her and presses his face into her thigh. She’s not aroused, but he can still smell her, stronger than before.

“Ward, what are you –” Joy grabs his shoulder and tries to push him away, as if physically fighting the realization.

“Take a scent,” Ward forces out through gritted teeth.

“No, Ward, what do you –”

“Come on,” he mutters feverishly into her skirt, rubbing his cheek there with his eyes closed. It feels so good. She feels so good as she strokes his hair. Slowly, she detaches herself from Ward enough that she can kneel in front of him and wraps herself around his shaking form.

 _Yes_ , he thinks. _Alpha_. Joy is his alpha. She will take care of him, of everything.

Joy dips her nose into the bend of his neck and breathes in deep. Ward can feel it, almost like a low growl deep in her chest, when it hits her. It’s not her time of the heat cycle yet, but the closeness of a willing omega would have the strongest alpha reacting.

“You see?” he whispers, moaning when she kisses the side of his neck, feeling the alien sensation of slick starting to drip out of him. He hasn’t felt that in years, not since that first, unfortunate heat.

Joy stops her soft exploration of the sensitive skin of his neck to talk but she keeps stroking his back, his shoulders, soothing and warm just like a caring alpha should. She has learned so well, despite his lousy teachings.

“Ward, why did you never tell? All these years.” Her voice is soft, her eyes filled with tears. “How – how did you – ?”

“Suppressants,” Ward says, turning his gaze downward in shame. It hurts to show yet another sign of weakness in front of her, and here he is, revealing his biggest one yet. “Anomeg. You know, why not be a free guinea pig for the company?” he adds with a forced, watery laugh.

Joy grabs his chin and gently tilts his face up. She still looks sad and surprised, but her cheeks are flushed and her chest heaves. Her silk blouse has fallen off her shoulder, revealing a bra strap and a sliver of white, smooth skin.

“Ward, no. This is serious. When this is over, we’ll deal with it. You can’t –”

She cuts herself off, shaking her head a little and standing up. Ward goes wordlessly with her, guided by her hand on his elbow. He takes a small step back towards his desk. She can leave now, let him ride out the heat and then they can figure it out. If he survives the experience, that is. 

“You have to go now,” he manages to choke out. “Please. You can’t –”

“What are you talking about?” Joy takes a step closer, forcing Ward to step back until he hits his desk. “I’m not leaving you like this. I’ll take care of you.”

Ward’s head swims. He wishes he had the strength to push her out of the room, but each cell of his body screams for her to stay, to touch him and fill him and take him. If she doesn’t get out, he might force her, an alpha can’t say no to an omega in heat for too long, he can’t do that to her –

Then Joy is crowding in on him, pushing him to sit on his desk so she can part his legs and stand between them. Ward makes a pitiful whimper at the contact and when she pulls him against her chest, he’s just gone.

Joy shushes him and rocks him gently. He can – oh god – feel her cock through their layers of cloth, and himself getting wetter. The suit is ruined.

“I said I’ll take care of you. Whatever it takes.” She kisses his tear-stained cheek, the corner of his eye.

She leads him to the couch and he goes easily down, on his back, pleasure filling his veins as she starts unbuckling his belt. No one has ever done this for him, undressed him methodically and gently and taken him apart like this, like he was something fragile. The shame he feels for messing up his clothes melts away when he sees the way she looks at him, with tenderness and awe and visibly turned on herself. The outline of her cock through her skirt makes his mouth water, and he wants that – maybe later – they could –

He’s dizzy with sudden possibilities, brain so wired that when Joy actually touches his skin it is a sensory overload. Her warm fingers spread his thighs further and then she is sliding her hand down.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?”

Ward just nods and then his brain must short-circuit because she touches him and her fingers slide right in. She gasps alongside with him.

“God, Ward, you’re so wet,” she whispers. “So wet for me. So beautiful.”

Ward makes another muffled sound at her words and starts rocking his hips slowly. It feels so good, her fingers reaching something inside he’s never found himself. She pushes his knees up and moves closer so she can push her fingers further in, out, in, meeting Ward’s little thrusts. 

“You’re doing so well,” she coos, and he blinks tears away. She’s up to four fingers now, he can feel it even as closes his eyes. Her other hand strokes up and down his calf, leaving a trail of sparks that seem to travel straight up his spine. He knows he’s making sound, though he tries to suppress it.

“It’s okay,” she assures him. “No one can hear us.”

She slides her palm up his leg, reaching for his dick. He’s not fully hard, as he’s in heat and he hardly ever comes from stimulation there anyway, but it still feels good. She gently strokes him and just lets him fuck himself at his pace down on her fingers, almost her whole hand – god, what if –

“You’re taking me so well,” Joy breathes out, like a whispered confession. “You’d look so good on my cock, taking it all. Would you like that? All of me?”

It’s the thought of her filling him completely, burying her hard cock into him and claiming him as a mate, calling him that, that pushes him to come. His muscles spasm around her fingers, sending little shocks of pleasure up and down, racing towards the tips of his fingers and toes. Joy waits for him to stop twitching before she gently pulls out of him.

They’re both silent for a while, Ward catching his breath and letting himself come down from the orgasm before he slowly gets up. The couch is a mess, but he’s had to clean up worse.

“You okay?”

Joy scoots down the couch to let him sit up. He doesn’t want to lose her just yet so he just hums and shuffles closer, not able to hold himself back. She lets him slump against her shoulder and even wraps an arm around him. Her breathing is still heavy and her eyes dark, and there’s a hint of a smile Ward wishes he could see every day. She was so happy as a child. He glances at her lap.

“You – you didn't,” Ward says weakly.

“It’s okay, I’m not in heat, I’ll deal with it later.”

Joy combs the fingers of her clean hand through his hair and he presses into the touch. Her alpha scent still fills him with a warm, tingly feeling all over. He’s never felt this before, never had an alpha touching him with care – only – he can’t think about it –

Ward is close to tears again, and he buries his face in her chest to muffle what must have been a full-on shriek building up. He feels raw and open and he can barely breathe and he’s ruining her Alexander Wang blouse.

“Shh, hey, it’s okay, baby,” Joy says and keeps stroking his back as she makes him curl up on the couch and lay his head on her lap. “You did well. So well.”

Ward tenses up. She doesn’t know it, and she doesn’t mean it, but she sounds exactly like Harold when she says those words. Harold, who must be absolutely disgusted if he’s happened to witness what just transpired. He could be, at this very moment, watching his son pitifully crying in the arms of his little sister.

There’s a part of Ward that enjoys the thought, his father sinking even further into desperation with regards to his son’s utter incapability to be a leader. Disappointing his father is the only way Ward can still hurt him. The rest of him, though, feels nothing but the familiar shame. That, at least, has not changed. And now that the effect of sex is starting to wear off, he realizes his body still craves codeine, a headache the size of Manhattan looming on the horizon.

His phone buzzes, breaking the relative intimacy of the moment. Ward scrambles up to grab his phone before Joy can see it, because he knows who it is, again as if summoned by his thoughts, but he’s still undressed and clumsy and she sees it anyway. It almost hurts not to touch her anymore, but Ward hastily pulls his pants up and takes the phone. 

“Frank Stein? Who is that?”

Joy is back to her strict, serious mode. Her erection has clearly flagged, and Ward realizes that her momentary attraction to him was probably only because of his strong in-heat scent. Of course she wanted to take care of him, she couldn’t risk him getting hurt or causing a scene. Ward feels sick, both for what he made her do, and the thoughts he had of her. He pushes the feeling away, though, turning his bitterness outside, throwing it at her.

“No one. Now get out. It’s fine.”

She stands up and smooths down her skirt. Her blouse has a wet patch left by his drooling on her.

“‘Fine?’ You call all this –” she gestures broadly around, “– fine?”

“You helped me,” Ward says with a pang in his heart. She looks angry and betrayed now. “You did your part. Thank you. Like you said, we can deal with it later. Now get. Out.”

The phone is still buzzing. There’s no point in hitting mute.

Joy looks like she’s about to start shouting at him again, but she seems to come to a decision quickly.

“Alright. I’ll leave you to it,” she snaps and turns to leave. “Go see a doctor. Please,” she adds tightly before she yanks the door open and hurries away.

Ward sighs and waits for the click of her heels to quiet down before answering the call. Surely, finally, it can’t get any worse than this.

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched _Iron Fist_ and all I could think was “oh Ward you poor little omega baby.” Hence, this. My first a/b/o fic.
> 
> Title from Shelley’s _Prometheus Unbound_.


End file.
